Unimportant and Unexpected
by hardly loquacious
Summary: I keep my ear to the ground," Minelli said with a shrug. "You'd be surprised at how much easier it is to get information in my position now. No one cares what I do, now that I'm retired." "I'll keep that in mind," Hightower replied with a wry smile. It was a conversation she hadn't expected to apply to her so soon, but now that it does, she'ds determined to take advantage of it.


A/N: This was written for ruuger, as part of the rarewoman fic exchange. I'm cross-posting here. I hope you enjoy it. She requested the women of The Mentalist being awesome and going after Red John (essentially). I hope you enjoy it. Thank you to forthecoast for the beta.

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Unimportant and Unexpected

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It was Virgil Minelli who gave her the idea first.

Inadvertently. And long before she implemented it herself.

Hightower had only been at the CBI for a month or two. She doesn't remember how long exactly. It wasn't important. She'd still been figuring her way around; that was the main point.

She'd been settling into Minelli's old office when he'd made a courtesy call. Not a big thing, just a call to say, "Hey Newly-Named Director Hightower, how's the job going? I'm sure you're doing great, and I'm not trying to imply anything about your performance to date, but I did do that job for over a decade, so I have a bit of an idea what it entails. And if you have any questions or need any advice, feel free to give me a call. In an emergency. Obviously not every week. Please don't call me every week. I really am trying to improve my golf game. But I still wanted to offer."

Plus Hightower figured the ex-director of the CBI was having a bit of trouble adapting to his retirement. Switching from the pace at the CBI to the pace of an afternoon at the driving range would be a shock to any system.

She appreciated the call, even if she assured Minelli that she was getting into the swing of things without too much trouble. For the most part people were being helpful.

That was when he'd surprised her.

"Jane's testing you?" he asked slyly.

"What makes you say that?" though Madeleine suspected that Patrick Jane probably tested everyone.

"How's the Harrington case going?" Minelli asked simply. "Heard there's a crazy cult involved?"

"And how did you hear about that?" Madeleine wondered in spite of herself. "We've been keeping most of the specifics out of the press. Done a pretty good job too."

"I keep my ear to the ground," Minelli said with a shrug. "You'd be surprised at how much easier it is to get information in my position now. No one cares what I do, now that I'm retired."

"I'll keep that in mind," Hightower replied with a wry smile.

"I'm not going to say you'll get used to him, you won't," Minelli said bluntly. "I'm not even going to say that you'll ever get along. But you'll figure out a way of dealing with him. And like I said, if you want any tips..."

"I think we're still in the adjustment phase," Hightower admitted. "But I'll keep you in reserve in an emergency."

He'd just laughed and wished her a good day.

It was a conversation that had been coming back to haunt her in the last year or so.

After all, Minelli was right. Why would anyone care what a retired CBI Director did with his, or her, time? If she'd still been working at the CBI, she'd be far more high profile, far more worthy of keeping tabs on. But no one cared what a small down sheriff in one of the far corners of California did.

Her relative unimportance gave her a kind of protection.

Hightower was happy with her new life. She genuinely was. Her children were happy. She had a good job. It was more than most people had. But it wasn't the life she'd have chosen. It wasn't the life she'd planned.

So even though she knew she was lucky to have escaped her brush with California's most notorious serial killer (or at least his network) relatively unscathed, and even though the thought that she might be putting her family in further danger (a thought which kept her up at night), she also knew that she couldn't just let things lie. She couldn't do _nothing._

Someone needed to stop Red John.

And she wasn't sure Patrick Jane was the one to do it.

After all, he had the serial killer's focus.

Red John has proven time and time again that he had no trouble getting any and all information he needed about the CBI's plans.

Whereas she, Sheriff Madeleine Hightower, was too unimportant to bother with, ironically thanks to Red John himself.

And she found that Minelli was right. It was easier to get information now. Certain kinds of information at least.

She started small, slowly. She wasn't on anyone's radar, and she wanted to stay that way. So she simply spoke to previous victim's relatives, the odd local official who'd been connected to previous cases. No one significant, no one who stuck out, and no one at a high enough level to make anyone take notice. She didn't get much, just small pieces of information. Most of it unimportant.

But it was the network that mattered. The network representing the other women Red John had hurt. The other casualties of his psychosis. Not necessarily the victims, but the other people who'd been touched by his violence. Mothers, sisters, friends. Madeleine listened to whatever they had to say, and she remembered it.

Because with a killer like Red John, the only thing that mattered was information.

Originally she hadn't had a clear idea what to do with it, if anything. Maybe it would come to nothing in the end. That was the most likely outcome. But at least she felt like she was doing something.

Her life had been destroyed and she was doing _something._

And maybe what she was doing could prevent what had happened to her from happening to someone else.

That was when Madeleine realised exactly what her game plan was.

And that was why, a week later, when she was visiting Sacramento, she found herself coincidentally at the coffee shop a block from Agent Van Pelt's apartment.

Madeleine smiled when the woman walked in. "Agent Van Pelt?" she asked, feigning surprise.

The woman spun quickly. Her face lit up in recognition. "Ma'am!"

Hightower smiled. "I'm not your boss anymore Van Pelt, you don't need to call me ma'am."

"You called me Agent Van Pelt," she couldn't help pointing out.

Madeleine's smile turned a little sad. "You're still an Agent."

"Would you prefer I called you Sheriff Hightower?" Van Pelt asked politely.

"No."

"Alright then, ma'am."

Hightower smiled. She'd always liked the young woman, in spite of her occasional naiveté. "I feel like it's been ages since I've seen you."

Van Pelt nodded. "It's been a few years."

"Do you have a minute?" Hightower asked. "I'm meeting a friend in half an hour and I'm killing time. I wouldn't mind hearing the latest news from the CBI."

"Occupational hazard?" Grace asked.

"Something like that," Madeleine told her.

"I'd love to join you," Grace said, somewhat awkwardly. Though Madeleine noted she covered it well.

She waited while the younger woman bought her coffee and sat down. The first five minutes of conversation was purely pleasantries. She heard about Rigsby's son, about Grace's boyfriend, Lisbon's vacation, and well, Jane's... continued obsession.

That was the opening Hightower had been waiting for. "I'm sorry about what happened two years ago, Grace."

Van Pelt looked up, surprised at the use of her first name. "You sent a flower arrangement, as I recall."

Madeleine nodded. "We have something in common, you and I. Us and more women than I care to think about."

Van Pelt nodded slowly. "I never thought about it like that."

"I have been, over the years," Hightower said

Van Pelt narrowed her eyes, suddenly suspicious. "Ma'am?"

Hightower leaned forward. "All those women, hurt. All with stories. I've been talking to them, listening. Because I got to thinking, individually we don't know anything, but together, together we just might."

"Do you know something?" Grace asked slightly breathlessly.

"Not yet," Madeleine admitted. "But sometimes I think I might be close. He's hurt a lot of people. And he'll hurt a lot more. He hurt you. He hurt me. I just lost my job."

"You shouldn't have," Van Pelt said loyally.

Madeleine smiled. "I went along with one of Jane's plans. I was lucky that was all I lost."

Van Pelt smiled back, acknowledging the truth of that statement.

"Still, I'd hate to think of anyone else going through what I did," Madeleine continued. "Another woman hurt at the CBI. Their professional life ruined. Maybe a Director. Maybe another agent. Maybe even the head of the team assigned to catch him..."

Van Pelt's eyes widened as she realized exactly what (or who) the former director was getting at.

Hightower didn't break eye contact.

Van Pelt took a deep breath. "You think..."

"I think my career's already been derailed," Hightower said evenly. "No point in anyone else's being destroyed too, not if it can be helped."

"It's still a risk for you," Van Pelt pointed out slowly. "And you've got kids."

Hightower shook her head. "It's less of a risk than you think. He needs to watch what Jane's doing. He needs to watch the Serious Crimes Unit. He needs to watch the FBI. He does not need to watch a single small town sheriff who occasionally visits the city to meet a friend."

"And so if you happened to be in town, and I just happened to run into you at a coffee shop for fifteen minutes..." Van Pelt suggested.

Hightower nodded, continuing their little hypothetical scenario. "And you happened to have some information that seemed almost important."

Van Pelt smirked. "Because let's face it, I'm not that important either."

Hightower leaned back in her chair. "You'd be surprised at how much information a lot of unimportant people can dig up."

Van Pelt watched her for a moment. "I hope so."

"I'm just asking you to keep me in mind," Hightower pointed out. "Maybe it'll come to nothing..."

"But it can't hurt," Van Pelt finished.

"No," Hightower agreed. "Obviously don't not tell Lisbon too."

"I would never not tell the boss," Van Pelt assured the woman sitting across from her.

Hightower smiled at that answer, mostly because it was exactly what she'd expected. "Good."

The meeting at the coffee shop had been almost four months ago. Since then Hightower had "run into" Van Pelt twice, and spoken more than once to any number of people. Lately the chatter had increased. Her unofficial network was buzzing, albeit indistinctly.

But Hightower had been a cop long enough to know when something was changing.

And she'd known it was finally time.

So she'd picked up her phone.

"Hi Teresa? It's Hightower. I'm actually in Sacramento for the day and was wondering if you had time to grab a coffee? No reason. I was just thinking about you the other day and wanted to catch up. Half an hour's fine."

Hightower wasn't surprised by the woman's easy agreement. She had a feeling she wasn't the only one who recognized the utility of unconventional information gathering.

She smiled as she made her way to the coffee shop.

She hoped the bastard never saw them coming.

xxx

The End


End file.
